Doctors to Presidents, Kings, Sheiks...and Sarah

We drove to the M*yo Clinic in R*chester, MN, the day before Thanksgiving so that a pediatric opthalmologist could examine Sarah's eyes.  She was diagnosed by my eye doctor with intermittent bilateral exotropia in January.  Her pediatrician wanted her to see the opthalmologist in our regular health care system, but he happens to be the one with whom she had a terrible experience back in Fall '09.  (Since her dark eyes are hard to dilate, they had to do drops twice, and she was completely traumatized.  When the tech wanted to go a third time and said they might have to strap her to "the papoose board" to examine her, we said we were leaving.  The doctor took a quick look into her eyes and said they looked fine, and we high-tailed it home.  I felt HORRIBLE for doing that to my daughter, especially when it was totally precautionary.)

Fortunately, I learned last spring that one of the girls in our neighborhood has the same condition, and her mom connected me with the doctor she sees at M*yo.  Since he is in our Pr*ferred Provider Network, I was able to just make an appointment.  M*yo is only about an hour and a half from our house.  As you would expect, the M*yo Clinic is an impressive place.  It dominates the small city of R*chester, both physically and culturally.  The brochure I was sent said that it employs almost 2,000 doctors there.

We started in a large waiting room that reminded me of the DMV but were quickly escorted to an examining room by a technician named Bobbie.  Sarah was leery right away.  When Bobbie tried to put a patch over her eye for the examination, she absolutely refused.  She wasn't crazy about Bobbie holding a paddle to cover her eye, either, so I had to do it.  She did well on the eye chart, which had simplified graphics instead of letters.

We were then brought to another exam room and introduced to a young Asian woman who is a fellow in the opthalmology department.  I thought maybe Sarah would feel more comfortable with her, but she was still very nervous.  She wasn't wooed by the mechanical stuffed animals on the wall that lit up and moved or the wooden marionette-like toys that collapsed when the doctor pushed the button.  I had to hold the paddle again, this time while the doctor moved my hand from side to side to watch how Sarah's eyes responded.

Then it was time for drops -- three in each eye, no less.  Another technician came in to administer them while I did my best to hold Sarah still in my lap.  "Time for some raindrops in your eyes," the tech chirped.  After the first two went in, Sarah freaked and put up quite a struggle.  I was wavering and trying to figure out a way around the situation, but the tech just forged ahead and got the drops in before Sarah or I could react (smart move).

We were ushered into a tiny waiting room for the drops to take effect (and hope that there wouldn't be need for more).  Another family was watching 101 Dalmations (the original animated version I loved as a child) on the TV, which offered a welcome distraction.  The other mom did her best to convince Sarah that the doctor she was going to see was wonderful and lots of fun, but Sarah was unconvinced.

After about 15 minutes, we returned to the exam room.  Sarah squirmed nervously in my lap.  The door opened, and a man in a suit and brightly striped tie strode in.  He greeted Sarah and said, "So, who are these people you brought with you today -- your cousins?"  Sarah gave him a half-smile and her characteristic, "Nooooooo," which she uses to answer ridiculous questions.  "Oh, is this your brother?" he asked, pointing to Don.  He went on to ask if she had come to have her ankles checked.  When she shook her head, he said, "Oh, your knees."  His silly questions broke down her defenses, and she warmed to him quickly.  "This," I thought, "is why we came to Mayo." 

Sarah let the doctor do a few quick tests (although the others had done most of the technical work) and was rewarded with a lollipop.  The doctor said on a scale of 1 to 10, with 10 being the worst, her exotropia is about a 3.  It is not affecting her acuity.  He said patching and eye exercises haven't been proven to help and recommended monitoring until either one eye remains out constantly or kids start to tease her about her eyes (break my heart!).  At that point, we should consider surgery to correct it.  Surgery successfully treats the condition in 85% of patients; 12% have to have it done again; and 3% become worse.  He wants to see her again in six months, then once a year.

After he'd answered all of our questions, the doctor turned to Sarah and said, "Well, should we call it a day, or do you want to do a few more things?"  Without missing a beat, she said, "Call it a day," and we were out the door.

As I tucked Sarah into bed that night, she said, "Mom, the woman said she was putting raindrops in my eyes -- those weren't raindrops; raindrops are outside."  "I know," I said, "She was trying to be funny and make you feel better."  I remember thinking when the tech said it, "Does she think Sarah is stupid?  She knows they're not raindrops."  Don't try to put one over on this little girl....

I feel very lucky to have access to some of the best medical care in the world.  It's such a relief to not worry every time I see Sarah's eyes move outward.  Since the last doctor told us we should do something when it was happening a third of the time, I've been obsessed with trying to estimate the frequency.  I asked the doctor at Mayo how I should go about that, and he said, "You don't need to do anything; it doesn't matter.  We can learn everything we need to know when we see her here."  Whew! 

These Boots Are Made for Striking a Pose

Wednesday, Sarah and I went to the mall for lunch and a little shopping.  We rarely do this, as I'm kind of a stickler for healthy food and not much of a shopper, but we had a play date in the morning, and Sarah needed new shoes, so I figured it was the most expedient plan.  Sarah loved the treat, of course, and I'll have to say I was impressed by the quality (not to mention quantity!) of the chicken tenders I bought her.  Fried, yes, but relatively unprocessed.

She needed some basic brown Mary Janes to wear to church.  JCPenney had a great sale, so we headed there.  Unfortunately, it was on the opposite end of the mall from the food court, and the walk just about wore her out.  We passed Santa on the way, and I couldn't even get her to wave to him from 20 feet away.  By the time we reached the store, she was not in a shopping frame of mind.

The one pair of brown shoes they had didn't come small enough for her, so I looked for other options.  I saw a pair of Ugg-like boots in a natural color and decided they'd work with dresses and leggings for winter, so I had Sarah try them on.  I thought they were adorable, but she didn't like them.  The saleswoman asked her, "Which ones DO you like?" and Sarah quickly pointed to the same boots in hot pink.  They hit her feet, and her face lit up.  Never underestimate the mood-altering powers of footwear....

Today, I told Sarah I wanted to get a picture of her in her new boots, and she willingly obliged.  She's turning into quite a ham.

And, finally, a sweet pose....

"Grandma Has People in Her Head"

On Halloween, Don's 84-year-old mom Dell had an acute subdural hematoma and needed emergency brain surgery.  Fortunately, she came through the surgery well and is now in rehab in the hospital.  We are praying that she will continue to improve and go home at the end of the month.

On Thursday, Don, Sarah, and I drove to St. P*ul to visit her, when she was still in the ICU.  The day before, Sarah made her a picture and wrote her some notes, which she carefully put in an envelope, sealed, and labeled.  She wouldn't let me put it in my purse for safe-keeping and carried it around the house, panicking every so often when she realized she'd left it somewhere.

I was a little uneasy about how Sarah would react to seeing Dell in such serious condition, so I did my best to prep her on the drive up.  I told her that Grandma had an owie in her head, so doctors cut her hair really short and went in her head to fix the owie.  Sarah listened intently and seemed to grasp it all.  Every few minutes on the drive up, she asked, "What happened to Grandma?"  I patiently repeated the same simplified story each time, thinking I had covered all the basics in language a three-year-old could understand.

When we arrived at the hospital, we headed into the ICU, only to be stopped by the desk nurse, who told us that children under 11 aren't allowed.  Ooops!  My heart sank as I wondered how I would explain to Sarah that she couldn't see Grandma, after the big build-up.  She and I headed to the waiting room, while Don went to see his mom.

After a few minutes, I decided to give it one more try and appeal to the nurse's sense of compassion.  We went back to the desk.  I explained that we had driven three hours to see Dell and that her three-year-old granddaughter had her heart set on seeing Grandma.  I took the blame for not knowing the rules and asked if there was possibly a window somewhere where the two could catch a glimpse of each other.  Fortunately, a second nurse had arrived on-scene.  She agreed to ask Dell's nurse for permission, and Sarah was granted three minutes with Grandma.

That was more than enough.  Sarah was a bit shocked by Dell's appearance, but she put up a strong front and handed her the envelope.  I think it meant a lot to Dell to see Sarah's sweet face.  We headed back to the waiting room and played Sesame Street dominoes and iPad while waiting for Don come out.  Sarah continued to ask, "What happened to Grandma?" and I patiently repeated the story word for word.

At bedtime, when Sarah asked for the umpteenth time what happened to Grandma, I said, "Can you tell the story now?"  She replied, "Grandma had an owie in her head.  The doctors cut her hair short, then she had people in her head."  It seems the story I had so carefully crafted was no match for a three-year-old's literal thinking.  It makes me wonder how she interprets the many things I say without thought every day!

Late Fall Fun

It's been a busy week.  First was Halloween.  Sarah wanted to be a ladybug again, so we headed to Goodwill.  I was hoping not to spend much because first, I'm cheap, and second, I knew she wouldn't get a lot of use out of it.  Halloween isn't a big holiday for the reticent.  Fortunately, Goodwill had a relatively inexpensive costume that I finished with a black turtleneck and jeans.  She was happy with it and loved the black spots on her cheeks.

She wore her outfit to our play group's potluck, and I managed to get her to keep the vest on until after we ate.  After that, she looked more like a cat burglar than a ladybug.  On Halloween night, she was eager to get dressed up again and posed happily on the front porch.  We visited two neighbors' houses on the cul-de-sac behind us, and she managed to mutter "Trick or treat" each time.  After the second, she said, "Let's go home."  She had probably the smallest haul of any trick or treater, but she was happy, and I was thrilled.

I can't resist throwing in a shot of her first appearance as a ladybug two years ago.  What a change!

Later in the week, I got her her very own rake. In typical Sarah style, she went right to work in the front yard and spent about 30 minutes making a pile, even though the breeze was working against her. She chased after her irreverent quarry constantly yelling, "Hey, come back here, leaf!"

Friday night, we attended a National Ad*ption Month celebration at the La Cr*sse Children's Museum. We had never been there (again, the cheap factor) and were pleasantly surprised by the variety and quality of the exhibits. Sarah had a ball. She was the most relaxed and carefree that I've ever seen her in public. I don't know if it was because Don was along, which is unusual, or because of the uncrowded conditions, but she really enjoyed herself. It was a joy to watch. We may have to buy a membership! 

The juice pouch and cookie at the end capped off a perfect evening!

Cute and Cuter

Emily, Omar, and Sophia visited on Saturday.  Sarah was so excited about seeing them.  She talked about it off and on Friday afternoon, reminded me at bedtime, and even brought it up again at midnight when she got up to go potty.  Yesterday morning, she made the rounds putting away any toys that she didn't want Sophia to play with.  Obviously she was also a little anxious about having someone in her territory.

She had a big hug for Sophia when they arrived and took her to see the baby chicks right away (see Cheep Entertainment).  Then it was out to visit the other animals.  As we approached the goat pen, Emily asked if the berries we usually feed them from the nearby shrubs were ripe yet and added, "What are they called again?"  Sarah, obviously misunderstanding but eager to help, replied seriously, "Goats."

After some time in the yard, we drove to a nearby state park for a short hike.  When we returned, Emily and Omar rested a bit while Don made dinner and I tried to keep Sarah and Sophia relatively quiet.  We ended up in Sarah's room, all in the rocking chair, reading books.  My lap and my heart were full.  Before dinner, the girls decorated cupcakes, which actually went better than I expected.

The girls play together well now and have fun most of the time, but Sarah gets stressed out about someone touching her stuff.  Certain things are off-limits.  At one point, she lost it because Sophia was going into the cabinet in her bureau where she keeps her doll clothes.  She was so emotional -- kind of panicked and screaming.  I felt so bad for her.

By evening, I think she was exhausted from playing and trying to control her world.  We were all in the living room, and she crawled into my lap and announced, "Sophia needs to go home."  Not the best example of Midwestern manners.  In her defense, she knew they had to leave after dinner, so maybe she was just stating a fact.  :)

Cheep Entertainment

We got the call from the post office at 6:15 Friday morning:  "Your chicks are here -- please come get them."  By the time Sarah got up 20 minutes later, there was a box of 28 little peepers awaiting her in the kitchen.  It's hard to say who was more excited -- she or Cadi.

We took them out to the garage and introduced them to the cardboard box they'll call home for the next month or so.  They seemed happy to have room to move around after the close quarters of the last couple of days, and some stretched their little wings and legs dramatically.  We ordered the "Rainbow Layers," so they're a colorful lot of various breeds that will make themselves known as they mature.

Sarah is taken with them and visits every hour or so.  "I'm going to see the baby chicks," she'll announce, as she heads out the door.  She's very gentle and has learned quickly how to hold them without squeezing.  She scoops one up, holds it to her cheek, then gives it a kiss.  "They're very, very cute, Mom," she says.

Emily, Omar, and Sophia came for a visit yesterday, and Sarah relished her role as docent.  She coached Sophia on holding them and reminded her not to squeeze. 

The only member of the family who isn't thrilled with their arrival is Sophie the Cat, who, because she insists on waking us in the wee hours of the morning, spends the night in the garage.  Needless to say, until the chicks are big enough to go outside, she'll be sleeping in her travel kennel.